


you got the key

by marmolita



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015 IIHF Ice Hockey World Championships, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21609532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: Taylor grabs his shirt and shoves it up.  "Sid!  Is that asoulmark?!""Uh, maybe?" he says, feeling his face heat a little."Mom!  Dad!  Sid has asoulmark!" she yells.
Relationships: Sidney Crosby/Claude Giroux
Comments: 12
Kudos: 221
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	you got the key

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sebfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sebfish/gifts).

> sebfish, I hope you enjoy this! It was my first time writing both these characters but I love a good rivalry, so I hope I did them justice.
> 
> Obligatory disclaimer: this is a work of fiction, obviously. Title from Carly Rae Jepsen's "Curiosity."

They say that soulmarks appear after you meet someone who has the potential to be your soulmate. The more time you spend with them, the darker the mark gets, burning through your skin down to your bones. But if you pass them by the mark will fade, and your skin will remain unadorned until you meet another person who has that special compatibility that it takes to form a soul bond.

Flower's had his mark since he was a kid. Geno has had two that faded away. But Sid's skin has always been smooth and bare, and sometimes he thinks it's better that way. He's got hockey, and really, that's all he's ever wanted -- it shouldn't be a surprise that his single-minded focus makes him incompatible with everyone.

*

It's somewhere in the spring of 2009 when Sid is lifting his arm to put on some deodorant and his eye catches in the mirror. High up the side of his ribcage there's a faint mark, lighter than a bruise but darker than his skin. Frowning, he sets the deodorant down and moves closer to the mirror, rubbing at it to see if it'll come off.

It doesn't. It's too slight to really make out, but it looks like maybe it's some kind of flowers. Tracing his fingers over the mark, Sid's heart skips a beat.

*

The Pens win the Cup. The mark fades away over the off-season, and he forgets about it, swept up in the high of winning and then the grind of off-season training. The season starts, and they win more than they lose. The mark comes back partway through the fall, but Sid ignores it.

He goes home for Christmas, and he's spent so long not thinking about the mark that he's taken by surprise when he's pulling off his sweater, the fabric tugging his shirt up along with it, and Taylor suddenly squeals in his ear. She grabs his shirt and shoves it up. "Sid! Is that a  _ soulmark?! _ "

"Uh, maybe?" he says, feeling his face heat a little.

"Mom! Dad! Sid has a  _ soulmark! _ " she yells. "Take off your shirt, let me get a closer look."

"Stop, it's not a big deal," he argues, wrestling with her as he tries to get his shirt back in place. It's a little tricky because he doesn't want to accidentally hurt her -- he's 22 and she's 13 and the difference in muscle mass is considerable.

"Really?" his mom asks, coming into the living room from the kitchen. "Let me see." That's not a tone of voice Sid can disobey, so he sighs and pulls his shirt over his head, glaring at Taylor. His mom inspects the mark carefully. "How long have you had this?" she asks, meeting Sid's eyes. "I don't remember seeing it this summer."

"It showed up last season, but it went away over the summer," he says. "It just came back a little while ago."

"So it's someone in Pittsburgh then," his dad says. Sid hadn't even noticed that he was lurking in the doorway listening in.

"I guess? I don't know. It didn't show up the first day I was back or anything. I haven't really been paying attention."

"How can you not be paying attention?!" Taylor shrieks, whacking him on the shoulder. "It's your  _ soulmate _ , Sid! You could miss them and be sad and lonely  _ forever _ !"

"I'm not sad and lonely," Sid protests. "I don't-- I just want to play hockey."

"Oh, honey," his mom says, patting him on the cheek. "I know. But you've already won the Cup, so maybe you should live a little."

"He could win two," his dad suggests, then at his mom's look adds, "I'm just saying."

Sid gets it, though. He  _ could _ win two. He could win three, or more -- he's not giving up just because he made it once. "I don't know who it is. It didn't get any darker last season, so I'm not going to worry about it for now."

"I'm going to text you all the time to find out if it changes at all," Taylor promises ominously.

"It won't," he says, though he finds that maybe a little part of him hopes that it will.

*

The mark stays light the next few years, fading in and out, and is always gone or close to it during the off-season. Sid supposes that just means his potential soulmate is probably in Pittsburgh, and so they will probably still be there whenever he decides he wants to do anything about it. It's so light that he knows it's not anyone he sees every day, and the mark is placed where it's not obvious enough for his team to give him too much shit about it.

It's April of 2012 when the Pens suffer a crushing 4-8 loss halfway through their series with the fucking Flyers. Sid's fists are still itching to punch Giroux again after he gets out of the shower, angry and disappointed and determined to beat them in the next game. He's  _ definitely _ not in the right frame of mind to walk in front of the mirror and see that the faint tracery under his arm has darkened into the clear outline of a spray of flowers. Sid glares at his own reflection, as if he can will the mark away with the force of his anger alone. Fuck soulmates, all he wants is to score some goddamn goals against the Flyers and maybe get his hands on Giroux again, and his fists in Giroux's face.

*

The first Team Canada practice for the 2015 IIHF World Championship is kind of a mess. It's not surprising -- they're not used to playing together, and they're each used to a different style of coaching. Everyone knows that he and Claude Giroux don't like each other, and everyone is side-eyeing them waiting to see what's going to happen. Sid knows he's part of the problem, because he just can't seem to relax and play effectively with him. Even though they're on the same team for this competition, Sid can't so much as look at him without a rush of hot anger flowing through him. When he practices checking against him, he can't help getting that same feeling he gets during games where he just wants to grab Giroux and slam him into the boards.

Which makes it even more surprising when Nate waves to get Giroux's attention and invites him to sit with them at team lunch after practice. The whole team bursts out laughing, like the idea of the two of them sitting together at lunch is the funniest thing they've ever heard, and really, it  _ is _ . He expects Giroux to laugh it off too and go sit next to Schenn and Couturier. Giroux  _ does _ laugh, but he takes Nate up on the offer and sits down across from Sid, nodding to him before starting in on a conversation with Tyson Barrie about the best places to eat in Prague.

Sid doesn't exchange more then a few words with Giroux, but they're civil ones. He's more concerned with the way Nate keeps trying to get him involved in the conversation, and the weird looks Nate keeps shooting him when he doesn't go for it. During the team lunch doesn't seem like the right time to ask him about it, though, so Sid ignores Nate and whatever weird shit he's got going on and spends the rest of lunch talking about who he thinks would be the best penalty killers with Matt Duchene.

*

It's after practice the next day, and Sid has mostly forgotten about Nate's strange behavior at lunch when Nate sits down next to him, bumps his shoulder, and says, "Hey, don't you have that flower soulmark?"

Sid frowns at him. It's not a thing he talks about much, even though obviously the guys who see him naked in the locker room all the time have seen it. It almost faded out during his concussion, but it never quite went away, and it's become enough a part of him that everyone on the Pens doesn't even give him shit about it anymore. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing, just, uh. You know G has the same one, right?"

Sid's head snaps up from where he's unlacing his skates. He laughs, a little wildly. "Nice one, Nate, I'll have to remember that."

"No, I'm serious!" Nate says, waving his hands. "I saw him heading into the shower yesterday, and I swear he has the same flowers, right there." He gestures to the spot where Sid's soulmark is, underneath the shirt he hasn't taken off yet. Well, now Sid knows why Nate was being so weird at lunch.

Sid rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. Lots of people have flowers, Nate, that doesn't make them a match. Don't try to mess with me like that."

Nate gives him an unimpressed look, but he lets it go.

*

The mark gets darker every day of the championships, as they beat Latvia, shut out Germany, dominate the Czech Republic. Sid studiously avoids looking at Giroux when he's changing, just in case. It feels too risky. He's positive that Nate is mistaken, but what if he isn't? What if  _ Claude Giroux _ is his soulmate? The darkening of his mark says clearly that his soulmate is here in Prague, but there are a lot of players here from a lot of teams, along with staff and press. It could be someone he sees for five seconds every day when they hand him a stick or drop off his clean laundry.

But Claude Giroux? It's just not possible, and as long as Sid doesn't look at him, he'll never know any different.

*

He video chats with Taylor one afternoon when Nate is out checking out Prague with some of the guys. "Are you done with finals?" he asks, smiling at seeing the familiar backdrop of her dorm room.

Taylor groans. "Not quite yet. I don't want to talk about it. But you guys are kicking ass out there! How's it going, playing with your biggest rival?"

Sid must make some kind of face because Taylor sits up straighter. "What," she says, "what's the deal with Giroux? Is he giving you shit, because if he is, I'll call in some favors."

He shakes his head. "No, it's fine, he's fine. He's not-- not so bad." He can feel his face heating up, because despite being confident that Claude isn't his soulmate, he's still a little embarrassed to find that playing together isn't actually a problem. They're on the same powerplay unit, and it's weirdly easy to find him when he needs to make a pass. While he wouldn't say they're anything approaching friends, they're at least civil with each other, and once or twice one of Claude's chirps has even made Sid crack a smile in practice.

"So what's got you all, you know?" Taylor makes a vague gesture with her hands.

Sid hesitates, double checking to make sure the door is locked, then pulls up his shirt and shows her the mark. "It's getting darker," he says, as if that wasn't obvious.

"Oh wow," Taylor says, leaning closer like she'll be able to see better through the screen somehow. "What kind of flowers are those, anyway?"

Sid did actually look this one up years ago, because if he was going to have flowers for a soulmark he at least wanted to know what they were. "Mountain laurel. It's, uh. The state flower of Pennsylvania."

Taylor frowns. "Well we all thought it was someone in Pittsburgh, but you're not in Pittsburgh now, so it's weird that it would be a mark about Pennsylvania. Did any of the Pens staff come along with you?"

Sid shakes his head. "No, not specifically, but we don't know it was someone in Pittsburgh. It faded when I had my concussion, remember?"

"Yeah but you also barely left the house then, so it still could've been."

"Or it could be anyone who works for any of the teams we play more than once a year," Sid points out. "That would be enough contact."

"For it to be getting that much darker, it has to be someone you're seeing every day," Taylor points out. As much as Sid doesn't want to admit it, she's right. "And you're the only member of Team Canada from the Pens. There are a few guys from the Flyers, right? I know you said you don't like any of them, but--"

"Just because it's the state flower of Pennsylvania doesn't mean it has to be someone who lives in Pennsylvania," Sid interrupts, before Taylor goes any further down that line of thought. "Mountain laurel grows in like half of the States."

Taylor sighs. "Yeah, okay. But Sid, have you been looking? I mean. You've gotta be able to see if it's anyone on the team, right? Don't you guys shower together?"

"I don't  _ look at  _ my teammates in the shower!" Sid protests. That's like cardinal rule number one of being a hockey player who's into guys. Nobody really cares if you're bi or gay or whatever, but you're not allowed to eye up your buddies' asses when they aren't putting them on display for you.

"Maybe you should," Taylor says, looking smug. " _ I _ would, I mean, if you got me some naked photos of Tyler Seguin--"

"Just stop," Sid says, laughing, "stop, no, stop."

"I'm just saying, he's a hottie," she continues, but she's laughing too. "For real, Sid, you might want to take a look. Don't let being scared stop you from finding your soulmate."

"I'm just here to play hockey," Sid says, before letting her go back to her studying. But as he gets ready to go to dinner, he takes another long look at his mark in the mirror.

*

They advance to the playoffs. It's not like there was much question of that, when their team is made up entirely of NHL players and most of the other teams aren't more than half. Sid doesn't play in the last game of the round robin, but he's there watching, and he's in the locker room afterward to celebrate with the guys. Maybe it's because he's not focusing on getting changed and showered himself that he doesn't remember what he's been avoiding, and finds himself face to chest with a very shirtless Claude Giroux as he's sitting in Nate's stall.

"Hey, you coming out with us to celebrate?" Claude asks him and Nate, lifting his arms to towel off his hair. There, high up on his ribs, is the exact same mountain laurel that's hidden under Sid's shirt.

Sid is struck dumb, his tongue frozen in his mouth. "Yeah," Nate says, elbowing Sid, "sure we are."

Claude is looking down at Sid with a raised eyebrow and that expression of amused arrogance that makes Sid want to-- do something.  _ Fuck. _ He clears his throat. "Yeah, of course," he says.

Claude nods and walks away, and Nate elbows Sid again. " _ Dude _ ," he hisses, "I fucking  _ told _ you!"

"Shut the fuck up," Sid hisses back, trying to force his heart to beat normally through sheer force of will because holy shit, Claude Giroux is his soulmate.

*

Somehow, Sid makes it through a late dinner and drinks with the team, though he doesn't remember much of anything that was said. His eyes keep snagging on Claude, on the tight fit of his tee and the place where he has the mark that matches Sid's own. When it's been long enough that he can make excuses about being tired, Sid makes sure Dutchy's keeping an eye on Nate (because lord knows Barrie won't keep him out of trouble), and escapes back to his room to very quietly have a complete meltdown. Fucking--  _ Claude Giroux _ , what the  _ fuck _ . What weird twist of fate would make his soulmate the guy who drives him so crazy that he may have -- not entirely accidentally -- slashed his wrists one too many times?

And how  _ dare _ he give Sid that smug look when he caught him looking at the mark? Did Claude  _ know _ about it this whole time? Was he just going to keep it a secret?

Slamming his fist into his mattress, Sid buries his face in his pillow and screams. Then, he gets up and makes his way to Claude's room.

He almost turns around without knocking on the door. Sid's rooming with Nate and he knows Nate is still out celebrating, but Claude has a roommate too, and he doesn't want to have witnesses. Well, he'll just tell whoever it is to go fuck himself because he needs to have this out with Claude right the fuck now.

For a minute after he knocks, there's only silence; he thinks maybe Claude's not there after all and feels like an enormous idiot. But then the door swings open, and Claude is looking at him with a wary, surprised expression. Sid shoves his way into the room. "Is your roommate here?"

"What, Seggy?" Claude snorts. "He had at least three girls in that bar all over him, you know? I doubt I'll see him again tonight."

_ Good _ , Sid thinks. His face heats up for no good reason, and he collects himself to get this over with. Taking a breath, he strips off his shirt.

Claude's eyes go wide. "Do you strip down for everyone on your team? We all know you're in good shape -- I don't need to see it, you've checked me into the boards often enough," he says, with a bit of a sneer.

"Shut up and  _ look _ ," Sid growls, lifting his arm out of the way and turning to show Claude his soulmark.

"Yeah," Claude says, "I see it." He doesn't sound surprised, or angry, or  _ anything _ .

Sid stares back at him. "Do you not-- Take off your shirt," he says. He can't be wrong about this, he  _ saw _ it.

"Aw, Sidney, I didn't think you were interested," he says mockingly.

Sid's temper snaps, just like it did during that playoff game in 2012. He shoves Claude back against the door of the hotel room and pulls at the bottom of his shirt. "Take off. Your damn. Shirt!"

"Okay, okay, Jesus, don't have an aneurysm." Claude shoves Sid right back, then pulls his shirt off. "Yeah, it matches, okay?"

There's the mark, right up on Claude's ribs. Claude's eyes are dark, angry, and not at all surprised. "You knew," Sid says. "You knew they matched, and you-- how did you know?"

Claude shrugs and crosses his arms. "Talbo told me, when he joined the team. He saw mine in the shower and said you had the same one. He had some pictures on his phone."

Sid can only stare. "You--  _ Talbo--  _ Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"You think I wanted you to be my soulmate? You fucking-- I found out you had the matching mark and then you slashed my fucking wrists and I had to have  _ surgery _ ."

"I didn't-- You-- Argh!" Sid yells in frustration, throwing his hands in the air. "Okay, but why didn't  _ Talbo _ tell me? That was three years ago, your wrists are fine."

"Maybe he realized it was a fucking terrible idea, because you'd just lose your shit like this," Claude says.

Something about the way Claude says it, calm but kind of nasty, gets Sid in the same way Claude's chirping has always gotten him, like there's something hot inside him that just needs to get out. "Of course I'm losing my shit!" he yells, shoving Claude again and getting up in his face. "How can you be my soulmate when every time I see you I just want to grab you and--"

Sid can't talk, suddenly, because Claude is kissing him. He blinks in surprise and makes a muffled sound, staring into Claude's eyes that are way too close to his face and dark with anger and maybe something else. Claude closes his eyes like he's making a point, and kisses Sid harder.

It's like the angry heat in his gut erupts into a roaring fire, rushing through his whole body, and Sid can only let it burn him up. He kisses back, biting at Claude's lips, his body practically vibrating with tension. They separate for air, and Sid opens his mouth to say something, but Claude bites out, "Shut up," and kisses him again. It's slick and wet and Claude's not wearing his tooth, which Sid can  _ feel _ because his tongue is somehow in Claude's mouth.

They're grappling, almost like when they fought on the ice, except now it's bare skin under Sid's hands and Claude's mouth pressed to his. He gets one hand up on Claude's side where the mark is and the other on his hip, and then somehow they've staggered from the door to the bed and Sid is falling backwards onto it. Claude pulls back long enough for them to catch their breaths, and there's a long moment where their eyes meet and Sid has a final opportunity to stop this. Instead, he grabs Claude's hair and pulls him back down.

It's not pretty, and there's no finesse. They're wrestling as much as they're feeling each other up, biting as much as kissing, but god, when Sid feels the heat of Claude's erection against his own through their sweats it's  _ electric _ . He rocks up against him, grinding his hips into Claude's before hooking his leg around Claude's knee and flipping them over. From the top, he can reach down and shove Claude's sweats out of the way, get a hand on his cock, and feel the way Claude trembles beneath him when he starts to stroke him. Sid is so turned on it hurts, but like hell is he going to let himself come first.

"Fuck," Claude gasps, hands tugging at Sid's pants. "Take your fucking pants off already." It's the first thing either of them has said since this started, but it doesn't break the spell. Sid lifts his hips up enough for Claude to tug his sweats to his thighs, then moans when he lowers himself back down, his cock rubbing up against Claude's, only his own knuckles in between them.

Claude gets a hand around him immediately, working him hard and fast, just the way he needs it. Sid matches his pace, moving to kiss and bite at Claude's neck sloppily, more panting against him than anything else. "Come on," Sid says, twisting his palm around the head of Claude's cock. Claude moans, and it sounds so good that Sid's cock throbs with it. He's not going to last much longer, and he needs to make sure he gives as good as he gets.

Claude lets out a stream of curses before going silent as he arches up into Sid, coming all over the two of them. Sid is right there with him, moaning and making even more of a mess. For a minute, Sid just hangs there, catching his breath, his face tucked into Claude's neck. Then he rolls off to the side and stares at the ceiling.  _ Holy shit _ , he thinks,  _ I just had sex with Claude Giroux. _ What's even more shocking is that that was the hardest he's ever come in his life. He would have thought that any of the casual hookups he's had -- where they actually spent some time intentionally trying to make each other feel good -- would be better than a messy, rushed handjob with a guy he doesn't even like, but maybe there's something to this soulmate business after all.

"You should go," Claude says, when both of them are breathing normally again. He's staring up at the ceiling too, not looking at Sid, and that suits Sid just fine because he can't seem to get his brain back online to deal with the enormity of what just happened. "Nate will worry if you're not in your room when he gets back."

"Yeah," Sid says. He forces himself to sit up and grabs some tissues from the nightstand to wipe himself up with. "Uh, can we just--?"

Claude looks at him, and Sid can't read his eyes. "Yeah," he says. "It never happened, eh?"

Sid sighs in relief. "Right. I'll just, uh." He pulls his pants and shirt back on, spares Claude one more look, and flees.

*

Practice the next day is awkward, as much as Sid tries to make it not be. Half the guys are hungover, so they probably don't notice, but Sid is stuck in this strange place where he doesn't even want to look at Claude, but somehow he can't help being constantly aware of his presence. He can't help catching glimpses of Claude's body when they pass in the showers, and remembering the way those muscles felt under his fingers, and he can't help the way his eyes are drawn to him in the dressing room.

But Claude doesn't even so much as look at him unless they're actively playing together. This is what Sid wanted, though, isn't it? For them to pretend it never happened?

Claude sits with the other guys from the Flyers at team dinner, and more than once Sid feels eyes on him and glances over to see Brayden Schenn or Sean Couturier looking back at him. Are they talking about him? Do all of the Flyers know? God, that's almost more mortifying than the fact that he lost all of his common sense and put his hands on Claude's dick.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Nate asks, when they're back in their room. Sid has a book open that he's not really reading, and Nate is playing with his phone.

"Talk about what?"

Nate looks over at Sid from across the room and makes a broad gesture. "The thing where G is your soulmate."

Sid groans and leans back against his pillows, flinging an arm over his face. "No."

"No, you don't want to talk about it? Or no, he's not your soulmate? Because I saw the marks and I'm like, 99.9% sure he's your soulmate."

Sid throws a pillow at Nate.

"Come on, Sid, he's not a bad guy. He came with us to do some sightseeing the other day and he's actually pretty fun. You could do a lot worse."

"Don't-- Are you-- It's not like we're--" Sid shakes his head, unable to come up with anything to say to that. He can feel his face turning red, because Nate isn't wrong, and that's the worst part. Claude actually is a pretty nice guy, and he's nice to look at, and Sid  _ liked  _ having sex with him, but he's still basically Sid's arch-nemesis.

Nate turns to look at him, then starts laughing. "You like him," he accuses.

"No!" Sid protests, "Just because we're soulmates doesn't mean--"

"You're turning red, I'm pretty sure that means you like him."

"What are you, twelve?" Sid crosses his arms and frowns.

"At least you're admitting that you're soulmates now," Nate says, kicking his feet out along the length of his bed. "So, what are you gonna do about it?"

"Nothing. I'm not going to do anything. He's known about it for years and didn't do anything, so--"

"You talked to him? When?"

Sid flushes again. "Last night."

"And?"

"And what? And we agreed to pretend it never happened."

Nate blinks at him. "Pretend what never happened? The mark appearing? Or you talking to him?"

Sid buries his face in his hands and groans. "Can we not talk about this?"

"Can you get your shit together and stop being weird about it? Because Sid, you're being really weird about it, and it's going to throw everyone off their game."

"Fuck," Sid sighs. "You're right, I'm being weird. What the fuck am I supposed to do? What would you do if you found out a guy you hated was your soulmate?"

Nate shrugs. "Maybe try to find out what it is about us that makes us compatible." Well, Sid thinks, a little hysterically, there's one way that he knows he and Claude are compatible now. "I mean, it's the dream, right? Find your soulmate, form a bond, spend your life together?"

"Can you honestly imagine me spending my life with Claude Giroux?"

Nate snorts. "Well, maybe not  _ now _ . But don't you want to find out? Besides, a soul bond would be useful for our powerplay."

"Are you seriously using my soulmark for better hockey?" Sid asks incredulously.

"What, like you wouldn't take advantage of that if you could? Since when would you ever not take an edge in your game?"

Sid hadn't thought about the bonding, before, and what it meant, but shit, now that his brain is working again he realizes that that's why he's been playing so well with Claude. "I already told you, we said we were going to pretend that we never-- that it wasn't-- that we're not soulmates. So just drop it, okay?"

Nate stares at Sid for a long moment, then says, "Fine, whatever. But if we lose, I'm blaming you."

*

They don't lose. They blow out Belarus, then beat the Czech Republic, and then they're in the gold medal game against Russia. Sid puts all his effort into playing hockey, half because that's how he's always dealt with his feelings and half because Nate was right, the tentative beginnings of a bond between Claude and himself are enough to step up their game when they're on the ice together. It's a small thing, just the tingling awareness of Claude's position; he doesn't know what it would turn into if it were allowed to grow. He's heard stories about soulmates sensing each other's feelings and intentions, knowing when their soulmate gets hurt despite being far away from them. Is that something that he wants? Is it something he could have?

These are the kind of things Sid's trying not to think about. And knowing that Claude was aware they were soulmates and didn't say anything for  _ years _ is just evidence that Claude doesn't want to find out what they could be together. Sid shouldn't want to find out either, but some little bit of himself remembers Taylor encouraging him to find his soulmate and warning him against being  _ sad and lonely forever _ . And maybe Sid is a little bit of a romantic himself. He'd just always imagined that he'd find his soulmate  _ after _ hockey -- and definitely never imagined his soulmate would be Claude Giroux.

Sid gets his gear on and stands in the tunnel, fist bumping the guys as they head out to the ice. His eyes meet Claude's, and he feels the contact like a shock. Claude doesn't acknowledge it, though, only gives him a sharp nod and hustles out onto the ice.

The first period is rough, with nobody getting much action in; it's not until eighteen minutes in that Cody Eakin nets one. Sid's not the only guy with a buddy on Team Russia, but everyone has to know that that's no reason to go easy on them -- he says as much in the dressing room during intermission. He looks to his alternates to back him up, but also to Claude, who doesn't hold a formal position on this team but is a captain during the regular season.

They get out there and break out with three goals in the second to put Canada up 4-0. Russia barely gets a single shot on goal, and their frustration shows with penalties late in the period. Sid goes out on the powerplay unit with Claude, but they don't quite make it happen. By the time the period is over, Sid's feeling pretty confident they're going to win. Russia's not playing as well as they could be, and it'll take a lot to overcome a deficit like this. Still, the game's not over till it's over.

"Hey," he says to Claude during the intermission, "we get another powerplay, let's net one, eh?"

Claude looks up at him and gives him a crooked grin, the gap in his teeth weirdly comforting. "You get me the puck, I'll put it in," he says. Sid finds himself grinning back.

*

They net a powerplay goal, Sid to Claude off a pass from Ryan O'Reilly, and when Sid crashes into Claude for the celly they're both grinning and Sid thinks  _ yeah, _ yeah, this is what it could be like. The sit down on the bench together, and Sid can feel it thrumming in his bones. Nate scores not a minute later, and the goal Geno nets for Russia makes it a little less of a blowout but can't stop Canada from winning gold.

They pour over the boards and Sid crashes into the pile of his fellow Canadians, buzzing with the win. The ceremony goes by in a blur, taking far longer than any of them want -- he can tell that half the team is ready to go get incredibly drunk as quickly as possible and the other half aren't far behind them. When they make it back to the room, there's beer and champagne and everyone's taking videos on their phones. Nate is dancing like an idiot with Barrie and O'Reilly, and Sid passes them by to get out of his gear. The cameras are rolling everywhere, people chirping him for getting in the way of Seggy's instagram video of drinking from the cup, and Sid's gotten most of the way undressed before his eyes catch on Claude, laughing at something Schenn is saying, totally naked with nothing but a beer in his hand.

He cuts his gaze back to what he's doing, but not before Claude notices him. But then Seggy is shoving the cup full of beer into his hands and someone is yelling, "Drink, Croz!" and Sid is more than happy to celebrate the last game before the summer by drinking enough to forget about his worries for a while.

*

He drunk texts Taylor some indeterminate time later, fingers fumbling at his phone:

_ [Sid] won gld mdl! _

_ [Sid] also giroux is m solmte?? _

His phone beeps with a reply, but he's had a little too much to be able to make his eyes focus on the screen, so he shrugs and lets Tyson Barrie talk him into a wrestling match.

*

Sid makes the wise decision to switch to water before the room starts spinning, so by the time he manages to escape the party he's only  _ mostly _ drunk. The younger guys are probably still going to be playing beer pong until the sun comes up and the press have cleared out for the night, so there aren't that many people around to see if he stumbles a little bit on his way to the elevator.

He pushes the call button, then steps back to wait, pulling his cap down over his eyes.

"Turning in?" a voice asks next to him. Sid turns to see Claude, also a little red-faced but looking less drunk than Sid feels.

"Yeah. Let the kids make themselves sick -- I don't want to deal with that bad of a hangover." His heart is beating a little faster just from being more or less alone with Claude, and Sid doesn't know what to think of that.

Claude looks him up and down. "How drunk are you?"

Sid frowns. "The fuck does it matter to you?" Maybe he's a little belligerent when he's had a few, or maybe it's just that it's Claude.

Claude shrugs and turns back to face the blank elevator doors. "We need to talk, but only if you're going to be able to remember it."

The elevator dings and the doors slide open. "I'm not that drunk," Sid says as he follows Claude in. He reaches to press the number for his floor, but Claude grabs his wrist and stops him. His hand feels like it's burning where their skin is pressed together; Sid should snatch his arm away, but he doesn't.

"My room," Claude says, letting go of Sid's wrist and pressing the button.

Sid is sober enough to keep his mouth shut in the elevator and stand at a respectable distance, but he's not sober enough to stop himself from looking. Claude is dressed in sweats and a tight Team Canada shirt, and the flush on his cheeks should look silly next to the red of his hair but somehow it just looks attractive.

Claude doesn't say anything until they get to his room, and Sid is half expecting that maybe Claude is going to kiss him again. His body is expecting it, anyway, but Claude only drops his keycard on the table and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. Sid watches while Claude starts taking off his shoes, then asks, "You wanted to talk?"

Claude looks at him for a long moment, then says, "I never hated you."

Sid blinks. "What?" He comes a little further into the room and leans against the dresser, because he feels like he needs some stability at his back.

"I never hated you," Claude repeats. "Even-- Back in 2012, the playoffs. I wanted to win as badly as you did, but I never hated you."

It's a little like taking the ice bucket challenge: a cold shock that you can't quite brace yourself for. "Even when I slashed your wrists?" he asks, looking at the floor.

Claude snorts. "So you finally admit it?" He shakes his head. "Even then. You asked me why I didn't say anything, why Talbo didn't say anything -- that's why. You hated me." Sid opens his mouth to argue but Claude cuts him off. "No, don't-- it's fine. The mark is a compatibility, not a guarantee; it only turns into a bond if we spend time together. I knew you could be my soulmate, but I knew you hated me, so there was no point in doing anything about it. It's easier, you know?"

Sid understands now why Claude wanted to know how drunk he is; he wouldn't want to try to understand this if he was any more addled than he already is. It's a weighty confession that Claude is making, and he can at least do him the courtesy of stopping to think before he says anything stupid.

The thing is, Claude is right. Sid  _ did _ hate him back then. He hated him for a long time, then when that cooled off, he still disliked him. Of course Claude would want to wait around and see if someone else could be as compatible. Sid had thought the same thing, hadn't he? Ignore the mark, see if it fades, deal with it later if it doesn't.

"I don't hate you now," he says eventually. "Claude, I-- I don't hate you."

Claude gives him a small smile. "I know. That's why I'm telling you this."

"I don't understand. The other day, we-- You said you wanted to forget it ever happened." And Sid had agreed, out of panic or out of instinct, but the past two days all he's been able to think is  _ what if _ .

"What?  _ You _ said you wanted to--" Claude cuts himself off, shaking his head. "You know what? It doesn't matter. I wanted to tell you that I get it, if you want to keep being enemies. These couple weeks were a blip, whatever. I understand. But I need you to know that that's not how I feel."

Sid's heart is in his throat. Claude looks resigned, like he's so certain that Sid doesn't want to be anything but his rival. He takes a step forward, then another, until he's standing over Claude. "It's not how I feel either," he says. His voice is not entirely steady, but it's steady enough that he knows he's doing the right thing when he leans down and presses his lips to Claude's.

It's slower this time, not the frantic, urgent mess of two days earlier. They're both a little uncoordinated, whether from partying or exhaustion he isn't sure, but it's so, so good. Claude lets Sid press him down onto the bed and they kiss for a long time like that, gradually stripping each other's clothes off. "Sid," Claude gasps when Sid sucks a mark into his neck, "are you sure--?"

Sid lifts his head, meeting Claude's eyes as he brushes his fingers over the mark on his ribs. He gives Claude a crooked smile and says, "Just shut up and let me suck your dick, okay?"

Claude laughs, and Sid takes that as permission and slides down the bed. It's been a while since his last hookup, and he's still a little tipsy, but he thinks he does a pretty good job. At least, Claude seems to enjoy it, based on the way he grabs at Sid's hair and the way his cock throbs in Sid's mouth. Claude curses in French when he comes, mostly words Sid knows from his time in the Q but a few that are beyond his grasp.

Sid shuffles up on his knees, jerking himself off over Claude's belly. Claude bossily knocks his hand out of the way and takes over, sending a jolt of arousal through him, and Sid bends down to muffle his moan against Claude's neck as he trembles his way through his climax. "Fuck," he pants when it's over, still braced on hands and knees over Claude's body. "I'm not pretending that never happened."

"Good." Claude laughs; Sid can feel Claude's chest shake with it, but he can feel it somewhere else, too. Somewhere deeper. When he rolls off to the side, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror behind the dresser: amid the darkened lines of his soulmark, the flowers are adorned with a bloom of pink and white.

*

_ [Taylor] Gold for Canada hell yeah! \o/ _

_ [Taylor] what are you saying about Giroux??? _

_ [Taylor] Sid are you drunk right now _

_ [Taylor] wait holy shit are you saying Giroux is your soulmate?! _

_ [3 missed calls from Taylor Crosby] _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to L for beta! Receipts:
> 
>   * [Sid and Claude's beef](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EWP9K3Eqal4)
>   * [Nate broke the ice at team lunch by inviting Claude to sit with Sid](https://youtu.be/qLeAp0j6NAA?t=287)
>   * [Canadians dancing after winning gold](https://vt.tumblr.com/tumblr_noim6sAVtk1tc8ght.mp4#_=_)
>   * and I'm not including the link to the video of Sid getting in the way of Tyler's cup-drinking because it does actually have Claude naked in the background, so since they took it down from public view I would feel weird linking to it, but rest assured, it is out there. Find me on [tumblr](http://marmolita.tumblr.com) if you like! 


End file.
